The Trial
by sfrost
Summary: Captain de Treville makes an interesting proposition to Aramis. This is my contribution to the Treville - Aramis challenge.
1. Treville

**The Trial**

This story is my contribution to the Aramis-Treville pairing challenge, with Joelle-same and Yael92 (I highly recommend you check out their cool profiles on !)

s/13463319/1/La-femme-du-capitaine

s/13386715/1/%C3%94-Capitaine-Mon-Capitaine

The story includes elements for a mature audience 18+

**Chapter 1: Treville**

Capitaine de Treville picked up his quill and dipped it anew in the ink. He gently shook it, then approached the tip onto the parchment. He had barely scratched a word when he realized that the musketeer he had been interviewing hadn't really left the room.

"Well?" he said, eyebrows raised in her direction.

She clasped her hands together in front of her – a gesture that struck him as oddly feminine. She hesitated. How should she approach this, if at all?

The past two weeks flew like a blur. There was no time for anything. After rescuing Prince Philippe and causing the destruction of Belle-Isle island, along with its occupants, they hurried to reunite the Prince with his brother and then escort them both back to the Louvre.

Athos had relayed all the events of what happened on the Island in great detail to the Captain and also to the King, with a few details injected here and there by Aramis, Porthos or D'Artagnan.

Since then, Capitaine de Treville had been at the call and beckon of the King, who was as anxious and as excited to ensure the safety and happiness of his newfound brother.

She had been burning to have a moment with him, to tell him what happened, but he had been too busy. She only caught him in his office early in the morning and, although, he had brushed her off at first with excuses of having to write some letters before he had to be at the Louvre, she insisted.

He sat in shock after she finished telling her own account of what really happened at Belle-Isle and the events that led to her becoming the interim Capitaine of the Musketeers in his absence. About who Manson really was, what he had done. And then she finished by confirming that he had, in fact, died by her hand. Oh yes, and that D'Artagnan was now up to date on her identity.

He had nodded his head slowly, taking it all in. The only thing had said was, "So, it appears you completed your mission, then," and promptly returned to his paperwork as if nothing had just transpired.

What had she expected? A hearty congratulations? A sympathetic gesture? Or maybe at least some reproach about being more careful regarding her identity. But then her heart sank. Maybe she was expecting something worse: that he would dismiss her right then and there from the regiment. Why would he keep her there, anyway?

Her hand lingered on the door handle to leave when she turned around to face him. For the first time in many years, Aramis felt this horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach: fear. The worst part, was that she realized that her destiny from now on relied heavily on what this stoic man in front of her decided. This gave her a bitter taste of what it was like to a woman all over again: powerless, at the mercy of others.

She swallowed with difficulty. He was expecting an explanation to this strange behaviour.

"Well, it's just you haven't really… that is…" she exhaled deeply. _Here it goes_. "At the time that you took me on, we hadn't really discussed what would happen… _after_. That is, after I accomplished what I had set out to do."

The Captain of the Musketeers put his quill down once more and enlaced his fingers under his chin. He looked directly at her, meeting the gaze of these mesmerizing azure eyes. The same eyes that came to him six years ago, filled with nothing but loss and grief. The same ones that gradually stored that grief away – or at least most of it – and that instead carried a fiery resolve mixed with a perpetual subdued melancholy. Then, with time, thanks to Athos and Porthos, he knew, he could see in them glimmers of hope, of belonging, and maybe even of love. But now, there was a shade of uncertainty and defeat that was uncharacteristic of this warrior. _His_ warrior.

For the longest time, he wasn't sure in what capacity to think of this young woman. Young women were either daughters or spouses. But he was not the same man he had been six years ago and now, he knew a lot more about the world and about women than he knew six years ago. Treville was a proud man. He would never admit his fallacies to anyone nor answer to anyone. He didn't have to. He was the Captain of the King's elite Musketeers and that was a reputation that echoed far and large even to the dustiest most abandoned little corners of France.

He was neither "charmed" nor emotionally entangled in any way when he made that decision six years ago. She hadn't been a seductress, nor had she been a damsel in distress. She was a passionate and fiery young creature – a wounded animal – who only wanted justice. So, why shouldn't she have it? He had thought. There was something in her that emanated such power, such ferocity and determination. It would have been a waste to let her wilt away. So, he took a chance.

In those six years, he saw her blossom from the young provincial aristocrat with the tragic story, to one of the most capable and talented musketeers in all of France. He watched her grow, her guided her, he deliberately surrounded her with those who will nurture her – namely, his other best two, Athos and Porthos. She became his secret, his prodigy, his pride. Did he ever demonstrate any of that? No. Would he ever? Never.

She had taught him so much, shown him so much of what not just women were capable of, but any one who set their mind to something. She taught him never to underestimate those who are "unlikely", or who are deemed to be "lesser", making him question the validity of the claims of who _was_ actually "lesser" and who wasn't. Not that he had never thought about it before. But now he actually had proof. Did he long to share it to the world and show them just what can come out of someone like her? Yes. Would he ever? Never.

He had grown to respect and admire her, so much so that his feelings around his musketeer would sometimes become muddled with something else. For the most part, he himself convinced himself of her false virility. But there were moments when an intrusive thought here and there made him break out in a sudden sweat. Thoughts that reminded him that underneath it all, she was a woman. Worse, she was no longer a young girl but rather, a woman. With a woman's body underneath the men's clothes.

In spite of all the complexity and risk that this blond musketeer had brought him, one thing was certain: he could not remember what life was like before her and it had become difficult – rather impossible – to imagine life _without_ her. In fact, he had to reproach himself on multiple occasions when he would secretly hope that she would never find the assassin of her fiancé, thereby never be able to complete her mission, therefore, she would remain in the regiment. Under his watchful eyes, that is. Under his wing and under his protection and… an intrusive thought would interject here and he would forcefully shake his head to return to other things.

All that is to say, that he had not been particularly jubilant when she broke the news to him this morning. A part of him wanted to embrace her, to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to tell her how proud he was. But mostly, he felt a certain anxiety. What did this mean? Will she want to leave? Can he _let_ her just leave? This wasn't about the musketeers' honor any longer.

In that moment, he finally found himself face-to-face with the truth that he had been avoiding for so long. How could deny it? His heart sank into the floor when he learned of her injury on the way to Calais. A reaction not usually produced with such intensity had it been another one of his musketeers. He had clutched his own chest in pain, as if a part of himself was also injured. His blood boiled with anger and reproach during the Buckingham affair that led to her arrest. His spirit was elated when he found out that it was _she_ who had replaced him as Captain, especially after hearing about her stellar performance. His prodigy, yes. But also, he now realized: the woman he loved.

He regarded her silently for what seemed like an eternity. He could sense the tension in the room growing. What could he possibly tell her? He could never come out with the truth. She was a woman, yes. But she was also a musketeer. _His_ musketeer. His inferior. Like Athos and Porthos and D'Artagnan. That would be like telling one of them he had feelings for them! How absurd! And yet… Here she was, expecting an answer from him now.

The sound thing would be to dismiss her. To end this strange relationship, to end his agony, to stop risking the reputation of the regiment by keeping her and more importantly, to stop risking her life. And his, for that matter.

He exhaled, folded his paper and simply said, "You may stay in the regiment if that is your wish."

He could now see her eyes sparkle like never before. She was ecstatic, it would seem. It was what she wanted. It was what she knew. What else would she do outside of regiment, anyway? It wouldn't be possible for her to go back to the provinces and become somebody's wife. A pang of jealousy swept over his heart. No, _his_ Aramis would not become somebody's wife.

He could tell she was concealing her true excitement, trying hard to control her limbs from jumping up and down. He smiled faintly. She was adorable and beautiful and… _Dear God, not again!_

"Thank you, Capitaine!" she saluted him like a real soldier and turned around to leave.

As if possessed by an entity outside himself, he heard his own voice fill the room once more, causing her to stop short in her tracks.

"However," he began.

She turned around. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes return. They both knew that there wasn't much of a future or a prospect for a happy life outside of the regiment. Not after all that time. She might be a woman, but being part of a fraternity was something very difficult to give up. The only problem with their scheme, however, was that Aramis was the one who paid the price for her disguise. And it was an expensive price. She had to isolate herself. She had to thoroughly acquaint herself with loneliness, enshroud herself in a lie that prevented her from fully amalgamating her friendship with Athos and Porthos – always having to maintain a certain distance, a certain reserve.

Even if Athos and Porthos were to finally discover the truth and accept her as is, what happens next? They were still soldiers. They both had reputations to uphold in terms of their status as talented lovers. It wasn't as though the truth about Aramis will prevent either of them from going home with a woman or two. _Then_ what happens to Aramis? She would have no choice but to confront her own loneliness. It might have worked until now, since she was clearly fuelled by her mission, but until when could it go on? What happens in a year? In five years? Can he be content with himself to see her whither away like that? What happens if she does decide she wanted to marry? Can he lose her?

"However," he repeated, "I urge you to reconsider the first proposition I made you six years ago when you came to me. I will keep you under the condition that you at least _think_ about it."

Aramis stood glued to her place, her eyes wide open and her cheeks a flaming red. _That_ was not something she was expecting: a renewed marriage proposal. To Capitaine de Treville. To _her_ Captain.


	2. Flashback

_Many thanks to Joelle-sama for the idea to write a flashback (:_

**Chapter 2 - Flashback**

Six years ago...

"You have to let me, Monsieur, _please_," pleaded the girl. She had been in his office for over an hour now, having come into his manor like a thief in the night, unannounced and undeterred. She was on the verge of tears and nothing made Treville more uncomfortable that a woman crying. She was also mad. Mad with grief, with loneliness, with anger. He feared for her safety from her own self but he also cursed his luck and his fate that had brought her _here_ to _him_, making her _his _responsibility.

"It is absolutely out of the question! How can_ you_ possibly become a soldier?!" he lashed at her, pointing his finger up and down her figure. Then, more quietly, "You can disguise yourself like a boy, as you have so expertly done so already, but you can _never_ become a soldier."

"But that is not…" she began, but he cut her off.

He stood up and circled his desk to stand facing her.

"Listen, Mademoiselle. I am not unsympathetic to your tragic story. I am also not an ungrateful man, especially given the information you had brought me. It is evident that it would be a mistake to send you back to your parents –"

"Uncle," she corrected him.

He cursed under his breath with annoyance, then he carefully and patiently enunciated, "I will not send you back to your _uncle. _But since you are here, you have made yourself my responsibility and…"

"So then make me a musketeer! Let me find Francois' assassins," she pursued.

_Good gracious_, this girl was as headstrong as a mule! She was impossible! He looked up, as if in prayer.

He proceeded, completely ignoring her pleas, "Since you came to_ me_ and have consequently made yourself _my_ responsibility, especially given the information you know, I have no choice but to keep you with me…"

Renee breathed a sigh of relief. A flicker of hope lit up in her eyes. He was going to offer her a position! He was going to agree! _Yippee!_

"…as my wife," he finished.

She plopped down on the chair in utter defeat. Her silence made him uneasy, but he persevered, nonetheless.

"I am not a cruel man, Mademoiselle d'Herblay, rather, a practical one. You needn't worry. This would be a chaste marriage, the purpose of which is to ensure your safety until we resolved this affair. I have no 'marital' expectations whatsoever and you may choose to live in my estate in the country, or in a convent if it pleases you."

At this time, the Captain returned and took his seat back behind his desk. Renee kept her head down, staring at her fingers on her lap. She had escaped that very same fate only to come back running into it. How ironic! How unjust… Was that all there was for her?

"I could never marry anyone else," she murmured to herself.

Whether he really did not hear her or simply chose to ignore her, Treville continued:

"But my preference would be for you to remain here in Paris and become acquainted with the court. I think you might be able to garner a great deal of information that may lead _you_ to the assassin you seek and lead _me_ to the roots of this dangerous plot. We could… work together."

In his time as Captain of the Musketeers, Jean-Armand de Treville had encountered multitudes of people from all walks of life. Men and women. Nobility, farmers, soldiers, royalty. His position as head of the personal guard of His Majesty required him to cultivate a certain intuition. An ability to be able to quickly make a judgment or a decision about someone. He needed to know who to trust and why. One small misstep, one misjudgement or one miscalculation about someone's true character or intentions could be fatal.

The moment this young woman walked into his office that evening, something stirred in his heart. A feeling, a hunch. One he recognized from a few years ago when he had chosen a stout young man from among the artillery squad to become a musketeer for him. Yet another time before, when a young noble man presented himself to him to become a musketeer, forsaking his title and fortune. Porthos and Athos.

And now? He had that same feeling and it troubled him. But he could never take the risk of enrolling her. Whether it was for her, or for him, or for the regiment's honor. He had to come up with another creative way to integrate her somehow. He would make her his wife and a spy at the court. Yes, Jean-Armand de Treville was a practical man.

She looked up at him in surprise. They would work _together_? Where did this complicity come from all of a sudden? But this was no time to ponder. Renee knew this meant something: she had gotten through to him, somehow. She intended to exploit that, but she needed to be smart about it.

"If by enrolling me in your regiment you fear the shame and dishonor that would come to you and the King's Musketeers, then I have to warn that your newly proposed scheme of having me in court would prove to be more detrimental."

Treville was taken aback. Just a second ago, he had congratulated himself on his flawless plan and now this little pest was disqualifying it.

"How so?" he shot at her. Yet despite himself, he was curious to hear what she had to say.

"As you were so close to telling me when I first came in, I'm an unrefined and ill-mannered girl. To shape me into one of your courtesans would require more work and effort on _your_ part than it would to simply make me a musketeer. Should I commit the tiniest of follies,_ your_ movements would become scrutinized, everyone will be talking about you constantly and you risk soiling your reputation for the smallest transgressions. And I can assure you, I am someone who commits many transgressions. Your meetings with your peers would revolve around the comportment of your wife, or whether you have decided to take up a mistress. I know of you, Monsieur de Treville. I know that you seclude yourself from many events at court, specifically for these reasons. But once you have a wife and at court no less, you will be required to attend every ball, every soiree, every tea party, every hunting party and every other boring social event you could possibly think of.

"Eventually, you will go mad. You will have no choice but to exile me to a convent, in which case, we would not be any closer to finding out anything about the plot than when we had first started. The other option, would be to beat me senseless into conforming to these confining rules. At that point, your reputation will suffer greatly. You will be known as the man who batters his young wife and your sovereign will begin to question your lack of self-control. People will regard you with horror and no one will want to spill any secrets to you at that point. Once again, we would be back where we started."

Renee paused, a triumphant look beginning to overtake her features as she observed the Captain's face: his mouth was agape and he was stupefied. She had him. Now she can deliver the final blow.

"However," she went on, "if you were to enlist me in your regiment, it is only _I_ who will bear this burden. If my disguise were to be revealed by whatever reason, you can simply pretend that you had no idea and I will receive the deadly punishment for it. Yours and the Musketeer's reputation would recover, no doubt. You can say I'm a sorceress who bewitched you, if you will.

"Furthermore, I am an excellent rider, Monsieur. I am a good shot with the musket and I can handle a sword. Whatever I lack in skill, I will work hard to improve and you wouldn't have to do much about it. I will follow your orders with the utmost dedication, as long as you don't ask me to compromise my mission nor my values. I know it's dangerous but whichever way, there is nothing but death that awaits me. Give me a chance."

She won him over. Not by charm, not by some emotional manipulation. But by a strategic and well-placed argument. She had made him her adversary without him knowing it and she vanquished him just as quickly. For a moment, he felt pity for the assassin she was hunting: that man, whoever he was, had no chance and his fate was sealed the moment Renee became Aramis.

Treville looked straight into those blue eyes that sparkled with such determination. What a headstrong and naïve girl! But she was also noble, honorable, courageous and intelligent. No matter what he said or what he decided, the truth stared him right in the face: she _was already_ a musketeer.


	3. Aramis

**Chapter 3: Aramis**

She stood frozen in her place. The sheer idea of marriage hadn't crossed her mind since Francois. As a matter of fact, not much in life crossed her mind over the past six years, seeing as how single-minded she had been about avenging her true love.

_Marriage_! Was he serious?

He stood up from his armchair and moved to the other side of his desk, where he stood facing her, in a half-seated position on the edge of his desk.

"I understand that this may not be what you had expected…" he began.

"Not what I had expected! This is absolutely _absurd!_" she had come out of her stupor.

The Captain stiffened and straightened up. She had taken them both off guard with her sudden, and loud, reaction. Where was the cool and collected Aramis? But in that very moment when he had spoken those words, she felt like a wild animal being threatened with captivity. He had infringed on her freedom, on this perfect reality she had constructed for herself and worked hard to maintain for years. He had offended her virility. Naturally, none of her other comrades would ever find themselves in this situation. He had reminded her of the one fact she had always wished to forget and reduced her to the same helpless young girl who had run away from that abominable fate six years ago. He had finally exercised his power and his authority over her in that regard. He will make her lose everything. But why should it matter to her anymore, anyway? She had accomplished her mission after all.

Yet she couldn't help but observe that he looked almost… hurt?

In any case, she reminded herself, where _would_ she be without him? She had to admit, without him, she would not have been able to accomplish what she set out to do. He took a big risk on her. He trained her, he mentored her, he guided her. He didn't have to do any of it. She owed him some gratitude or at least some courtesy to listen to what he had to say.

She softened her tone and spoke with a thick voice, trying hard to suppress a lump in her throat as everything she was about to lose came floating in her mind's eye, "Forgive me. I didn't mean to sound so harsh or ungrateful. Especially after everything."

He sneered at her, "You owe me nothing. I suppose I didn't realize that the idea would be _that _appalling."

The blond musketeer bit her lip. She had offended him. Was it _really_ appalling? She regarded him with a strange novel curiosity as he lifted himself up from the desk and turned around to face the window. In front of her was Capitaine de Treville, leader of the King's Musketeers. He was a man of honor. A man of great integrity. The King and France itself depended on him. He was sensible, responsible and he always did the right thing even if it came at a great risk. He took chances on people. People like D'Artaganan. People like _her_.

She felt herself blushing with shame at the thought of offending this great man. Why _was_ it absurd? Wasn't Francois the same? Wasn't he intelligent beyond anyone she had ever met? Wasn't he also honorable and dependable? Here was Treville, charged with the guidance and safety of Louis, just as Francois was charged with that of Philippe's. Both men were also considerably older. So, it wasn't a question of age.

She inclined her head slightly to the side. Frankly, he wasn't unhandsome either… He was built and strong. Even at his age, he had kept himself in fit shape and form. His arms were muscular and, now, looking at his behind… _Good God, Aramis! Contain yourself!_

Yet she couldn't help but think that his stoicism and reserve were but a lid to a deep pot that undoubtedly stewed with a fiery passion – something he must reserve for occasions when… _No, stop!_

Her neck was red by now from these impromptu and indecent thoughts about her Captain. But therein was the problem: he was her _Captain_. Her superior. Perhaps in another context, she wouldn't have found the idea so "absurd".

"It's not appalling," she said softly, causing him to turn around. Was that a flicker of hope she saw in his eyes? She smiled faintly at him. "It's just unlike you, to be honest."

He chuckled, "Unlike me? How so, pray?"

She smiled coyly and walked about the room in a slow motion.

"Well, six years ago, it made sense. I was young and you felt obliged. You had wanted to do the honorable thing. The practical thing, if anything I had learned from you all these years. But now? I no longer need your protection and we have successfully uncovered the plot and eliminated those who constructed it. We both accomplished our missions. _Together_."

He chuckled again softly to himself and turned away once more. Yes, she did not need his protection. She never did, really. But the fact that she admitted that she had at some point all those years ago made him feel inflated. His mind lingered on the last word she said: _together_. Could he possibly hope that it could mean something? That she might share his feelings at some point? He felt that he somehow had gotten through to her. He intended to exploit that, but he needed to be smart about it.

He sat down and motioned to her to sit on the chair opposite his desk.

"Tell me, Aramis, how does it feel now?"

She was taken aback by his question. How did _what_ feel? Her expression seemed to hint to him. Although deep inside, she knew what he meant.

"Now that you killed Manson and your fiancé can finally rest in peace. Now that you avenged him with honor. Now that you accomplished the mission you set out to do six years ago. How does it feel?"

He spelled it out for her in all the bluntness that she, herself, had avoided in her head.

"I… hadn't yet had the time to think about it, Sir. We have been so occupied since we came back," she replied dryly. How dare he? It was none of his business! He had no right to ask her, to pry into her mind. Not once in the past six years had they had such a personal exchange. Does he now feel as though he can begin to treat her like a true inferior? As if he had a right to her? She closed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow.

He knew he was venturing into dangerous territory. But he was also a strategic man. He will stop here for now.

"Well, then, soldier. It seems you have a lot to think about."

….

It was a rare, almost historical, occasion: the tavern was filled with the King's Musketeers and the Cardinal's Red Guard at the same time. Both regiments were celebrating their joint victory over the Iron Mask and his accomplices.

The atmosphere seemed to mock her. Everyone was festive and loud. She was the only one sulking, sitting in the same manner she did in the Captain's office: arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed and brows furrowed.

"What's wrong with _him_?" she heard Porthos whisper to Athos as he sat down next to her, depositing a few mugs of ale on the table.

"I don't know, he's been like this since he saw the Captain this morning," Athos replied.

Porthos nudged Aramis, who opened her eyes to glare at him.

"Someone's got scolded by the Captain again!" he teased in a childish tone, "What was it this time? You showed up a minute too early to training? Your doublet had too many buttons on it? Or did you beat a Red Guard again?" he said the last phrase behind his hand in a dramatic gesture at concealment. Athos only chuckled, trying to suppress his laughter. He knew Aramis' moods all too well and this one was just a storm waiting to happen; and he did not want to be caught in it.

"The Captain's Golden Boy!" Porthos continued teasing before he broke into a fit of laughter, while petting the head of Aramis. Athos bit his lip. He was sure Porthos was drunk, but that was too far.

Aramis violently shook him off, "Leave me alone, Porthos!" and she stormed out of the tavern, brushing past D'Artagnan, who had just come in. In her fury, she didn't see him.

…

She was almost at Pont Neuf when she heard hurried footsteps approaching. She turned around only to find D'Artagnan running towards her, his hand on his hat to secure it in place. When he finally reached her, he almost collapsed. He was bent over, his hands on knees for a long time, trying to catch his breath.

"You… walk… fast!" he breathed, "Phew!"

He straightened up and stretched himself out. Aramis simply regarded him with amusement.

"What is it, D'Artagnan?" she finally spoke, dryly. She was in no mood to talk to anyone.

"I heard that you were in the Captain's office this morning and that you haven't been in a good mood since then," he declared bluntly.

She rolled her eyes and turned away.

"It was about Belle-Isle, wasn't it?"

She turned around and squinted at him.

"Oh, I knew it was!" his face was now full of concern, "Oh, what a mess! The Captain knows I know now, doesn't he? And he must have been furious! Oh, Aramis! This is all my fault. I can fix this. I can tell him it wasn't your fault, that I had to do it to save your life, that…"

She cut him off by placing a hand on his shoulder. He had disarmed her of all her indignation and her anger. She was touched. How sweet he was and how honorable! Constance was a lucky woman, she thought to herself.

She smiled warmly at him, "Don't worry, D'Artagnan. But thank you, really. It wasn't about that at all."

She swallowed with difficulty and turned away, the tears accumulating at the corner of her eyes despite herself. All she wanted was to be left alone so she can let herself go and relieve herself from this emotional turmoil she suddenly found herself in.

"Aramis…" D'Artagnan gently spoke. It broke his heart to see her like this. It was like she was wounded all over again. "You could tell me anything, I promise I would never betray your trust."

She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, "I know." She smiled back at him and he could see the rim of her eyes had turned red, "I just want to be alone tonight, if that's alright."

He understood. "If you need me…"

"I know." She smiled and turned away.

She barely heard his footsteps depart when he suddenly turned back, "Uhh, Aramis?"

"Yes, D'Artagnan?"

"It looks like you won't be alone tonight."

"What do you…?"

She turned abruptly to see Athos and Porthos approaching. She quickly wiped her face with her hands and exhaled a few times to calm herself. It looked like today was a day of revelations. If not now, then when? If she were to lose everything, she might as well orchestrate it herself. It was time to tell them.

"Hey, D'Artagnan, you're not staying with us?" Porthos asked the young musketeer.

"Not tonight. I promised Constance to walk her home from the Louvre," with that, he winked at Aramis and left, knowing that these three had a lot to talk about.


	4. The Proposal

**Chapter 4: The Proposal**

She walked beside him at the Louvre, after a meeting with the King about Philippe's security. It had been a month since their last interview.

"Come to my office tonight after everyone had left," he instructed her, as if it was another casual order.

She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. _How convenient!_

…..

A gentle knock on the door announced her presence. It was well after dark, a couple of hours before midnight. Everyone had left the premises but the Captain of the Musketeers usually slept in a chamber attached to his office.

Aramis closed the door behind her and stood right beside it. Being so close to the exit was comforting and she was already on edge. He called her here tonight because he wanted an answer. What if she gave him the wrong answer and he decided to end her career right then and there? But the newly fortified friendship she had found with Athos and Porthos after revealing her secret made her feel stronger. No, Aramis will not cower in the face of pressure. Aramis was a warrior, a soldier and above all, a woman of honor and integrity. If Treville couldn't see that, then she will have to teach him.

She struck an upright pose with her arms behind her back. Treville emerged from his antechamber dressed in a simple chemise, which was open at the top, revealing parts of his sculpted chest. She blushed deeply as she remarked his features with such… interest. His mere appearance was beginning to trouble her in ways she couldn't understand. But she understood one thing: trouble was never good.

He came out with two glasses and a bottle of brandy. He gestured to her to sit down but she firmly held her ground by the door. He casually remarked to her, "You can feel free to take off your doublet and be comfortable. There's no one here tonight and I ensured that…"

"CAPITAINE! Honestly!" she shot at him, grabbing the collar of her doublet tighter to her neck.

He scrutinized her, holding one glass in each hand, puzzled by her outrage. What has gotten into her? He thought his suggestion would relieve her. That this informal setting would make things easier, less awkward. He wanted to show her that, on this particular matter, he wasn't talking to her as her superior, as her Captain but rather as a… as a what? A lover? But they weren't lovers. As a suitor? He chuckled to himself at the idea. Jean-Armand de Treville, a suitor! It was the joke of the century. Even _he _was laughing.

"What's so funny?" she lashed at him once more.

He shook his head in dismissal at the idea and placed the glasses on the table. He sat on one of the chairs opposite his desk and poured himself a glass.

"Suit yourself. I only suggested it to make you more at ease," then, he added, "I would have suggested the same to any other musketeer." She squinted her eyes at him. Why was he being coy? It didn't matter, she will come right out with it.

"Look, Capitaine, I owe you a great debt. I will forever be grateful to you and everything you have done for me but I regret to inform you that I must refuse the proposition you had so _kindly_ renewed the last time we spoke, even at the peril of losing my position in your regiment," she bluntly and sternly declared, through clenched teeth.

He took a sip of his brandy and swirled the glass in his hand. He swallowed and said, "Well, it looks like you have thought of _one_ of the two things we had spoken about."

He sounded bitter and she knew she had injured his pride.

"What about the other thing?" he turned his head and their eyes met for the first time this evening. She felt electrified. Never had she felt so disturbed in her Captain's presence. Not even the first time she had met him; never. But there was something different in his gaze. Something… fiery. Something alluring in the way he eyed her up and down, as if sizing her up or looking straight through her clothes. She felt nude and exposed under his penetrating gaze. Astonishingly, she found her body strangely responding to that. She could leave right now. She could leave here, run away and never come back but something kept her in place. What was it? Courage? Curiosity? Perhaps her needing to prove that Aramis faces her adversaries and never runs away?

No, Aramis does _not _run away. If it's a duel he wants, it's one he shall get. She relaxed her pose. A bitter smile dessinated on her face.

"What do you want to know, Captain? That I feel emptier now that my mission is complete than I did before? That it's as if a void in me had expanded with nothing to fill it? That I am _desperate_ for companionship and that the only way to save my soul is by taking a husband and having his children?"

He stood up, his face turning grave. He knew she was being sarcastic about the second part for certain. He walked towards her. She didn't move. They stood so close to one another, she could feel the warmth of his body. She had to admit to herself that she desperately wanted to place her palms on his chest, to feel his arms surround her, to… she stopped herself and looked down instead.

Where was all of this coming from? She had reconciled with Athos and Porthos. They had accepted her. They had embraced. One for all and all for one. Wasn't that enough? Wasn't their friendship and their camaraderie enough? Why was she longing for this? She _shouldn't_ long for this. This was only for Francois and Francois was gone.

She felt his hand cupping her face, raising it to his eye level. It felt like time had stopped. The contact and the closeness were electrifying beyond anything she had ever felt. She could feel tingles up and down her spine.

"What you did was not easy. You had to make hard decisions and you paid a steep price," he softly told her.

"It was worth it," she murmured back, her eyes half closed. They stood so close she could feel his breath caressing her cheek. She thought he leaned in closer. He parted his lips slightly and she thought he was about to say something or… or…

But he moved away instead.

"But yes, that is exactly what I had wanted to know," he coolly said and resumed his seat. He gestured to the chair across from him again. This time, she accepted his invitation.

….

"What did you think you would do after you accomplished your vengeance?" he asked her, while pouring brandy into her glass. She only regarded him with apprehension. She didn't know what to answer him. She hadn't really thought about it. A big part of her believed she would never find the assassin or that she would likely die before she did.

"That's your problem, right there," he pointed out. She simply raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"You never think of the future. You only think one step ahead, when you should be thinking _ten_ steps ahead."

"I am a soldier, Monsieur. I'm not _supposed_ to think ten steps ahead."

"You weren't always a soldier, _Captain_ Aramis," he chuckled and raised his glass to her in salute. She only glared at him in response.

"If you plan on succeeding me one day - ," he began, but she cut him off.

"I have no plans of the sort whatsoever! I did what I had to do to stop Manson," she defended herself.

"Very well, so you have no plans of succeeding me, hence no plans of advancing your career. No plans of marriage or children. Then, what? You will die in battle? Or perhaps you wanted to wait until you were discovered and then die a most humiliating death?"

She sniggered at him, "And you hope to rescue me from my reckless existence by giving me the security of marriage? I doubt you would do that to any other of your musketeers."

"Certainly not. But I don't have to watch any of my other musketeers wilt away from sadness or loneliness."

"Ah, so you mean to do the honorable thing and rescue me from a _sorrowful_ existence?" She sneered, taking a sip of the brandy.

"I _mean_ to give you options. To give you the freedom to choose; something you did not have six years ago. You don't have to live the rest of your days alone."

She regarded him in silence. Was she actually _tempted_ by his offer? She felt her pride sink a notch.

"This is not an order. I'm not speaking to you as your Captain, but as someone who cares for your well-being. I won't force you," he went on, "My proposal remains the same as it was six years ago: a chaste marriage, unless you will it otherwise, that is."

She widened her eyes at the allusion. He only chuckled, "Spare me, Aramis. You're not the adolescent girl you were six years ago. I'm sure by now you have many more stories to recount to me of your comrades and their debauchery that would scandalize even _me_. I'm also sure that you might have ideas of your own. You may not be a man, but you're certainly not an inanimate rock."

She blushed a color darker than the brandy, confirming his statement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His curiosity was piqued. What _did_ his beautiful musketeer dream of in her solitude? Alas, with her frigid and defensive reception of his proposal, he may never know. But he can certainly imagine…

"You may choose to live in my country estate in Gascony, or you may choose to seclude yourself in a convent," he continued, seeing as she was too scandalized to reply. "But my sentiment remains the same. I still prefer for you to remain in Paris and become acquainted with the court."

She nodded. In other words, he wanted her to become a spy. Would that be so bad, really? It was an intriguing possibility. A new adventure.

"That is all well and generous," she spoke, dryly, "But what do _you_ gain out of it? Suppose I did want a chaste marriage. Is your intention to make me into your spy and take up mistresses on the side?" She crossed her leg on top of the other and uncrossed her arms. He was in. She was gearing up for a negotiation.

He smiled inwardly. _Was she jealous?_

"You offend me, Madame," he replied, addressing her as a woman for the first time in six years. She sat back in her chair, each arm on the armrest, swirling her drink in one hand, her teeth clenched at the feminine title he just addressed her with.

"I am a dedicated and an honest man. I have no business with mistresses, chaste marriage or not. A marriage is a marriage." She was testing him, he could tell. He regarded her discretely. Her face was turned to the side, staring out the window. Her profile was impeccable. She had a proportionate face worthy of a splendid work of art. Androgynous yes, but angelic and startlingly beautiful. He was no stranger to the rumours about the musketeer's reputation. Talks of his divine beauty were on every woman's lips in the court and beyond. Yet every time he heard someone talk of Aramis, his heart leapt with joy, knowing that only _he_ knew the real Aramis and that somehow their little secret made her all the more exclusive to him.

The Captain was right: she was no visionary. She had never thought about it before, but what will happen to her with age? She might no longer be able to battle as she can now. What would happen if she had a change of heart? Who _would_ take a femme musketeer as his wife? Would she have to hide this part of her past from any one she married after this? But how tired she was of lying!

His proposal was troubling but she had to admit, intriguing. However, there remained one thing she still needed to know.

"Would you still let me be a musketeer?"

There it was. He knew he had her now, and he had just the answer for her:

"For as long as you want, provided everything remains a secret."

She didn't know what to think. It all sounded so… strange. To be secretly married to her Captain? But a second ago, the mere thought of it was so off-putting. Now she was _considering_ it? Why, out of fear?

Treville was getting frustrated. This was a lot more work than he had anticipated. But what did he expect, anyway? Besides, hadn't she warned him about her spousal potential six years ago? Perhaps she was right and this was altogether a terrible idea. He couldn't retract anything now even if he wanted to. No, Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of honor and as a man of honor, he kept his word.

He fell back in his chair, feeling defeated. Had he just demolished their relationship forever? How can they go back to soldier and Captain after this? If she refused him, where would that leave them? She would have to leave the regiment. She would have to leave _him, _which is exactly what he did not want.

He had to come up with something and quick.

"What say you to a trial period?"


	5. The Trial

**Chapter 5: The Trial**

She inclined forward in her chair, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"A TRIAL period?" she repeated.

"Precisely. It will give you an idea of what it would be like to be married to me and you can decide for yourself if this is something you will like or if you prefer the life of a soldier after all."

His tone was steady, confirming to her that he was in fact NOT joking.

"Sir, this isn't a new type of musket or a new exercise that you could simply try out before committing to it," she pursued.

She stood up and began pacing up and down the room. What a preposterous idea! This evening was turning stranger and stranger by the minute. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't in a dream - or a nightmare, rather.

"I don't understand _why_ you are doing all of this. You could have _anyone_ spy for you at court or elsewhere."

He didn't reply promptly.

"I want to make you happy," he simply admitted, gently swirling his glass while he gazed at the golden liquid.

She was ready to retaliate but was completely taken off guard by his response. To make her happy? She held her breath. Was he only doing the honorable thing by her? Or was there more to it than that? He was giving her the freedom to choose something new, to try something new. On her own terms, no less. He wasn't binding her into anything, he hadn't hinted or alluded to anything indecent. And yet… there was something in the way he had looked at her before. Did he desire her?

For once, she had to remind herself that Capitaine de Treville was a man first and foremost. Had she been so naïve so as to think that he hadn't regarded her as an object of desire once or twice? That he hadn't imagined what her body looked like underneath these clothes? That he hadn't calculated the proportions of her figure in his mind? That at certain times when they were alone, he had to actively suppress his instincts so as not to touch her, not to slide his hands onto her hips, not to pull her towards him, not to press his lips to hers, not to explore her with his tongue, not to place his body onto to hers, not to incline her onto his desk where he would part her legs, make her his, while her moans would echo throughout this half-empty chamber? **

_Good Heavenly Gracious God, Aramis! _She pinched herself again. These thoughts, which were supposed to alert her to any potential disgusting behaviour on his part, suddenly took on an erotic nature. She could feel her crotch becoming warm and… moist? Oh goodness! She hurriedly resumed her seat and crossed her legs firmly one on top of the other.

"And how do you propose to conduct this… trial?" she challenged him.

He smiled into his drink and silently congratulated himself on his victory.

…

He set his glass on the table. It was now his turn to circle the room in a slow deliberate movement.

"As you so expertly pointed out six years ago, I am a private man. No one knows anything about me. My private life practically has no existence in the eyes of others. As such, it would not be difficult to one day present a Madame de Treville at court," he paused and gestured to her. She blushed at the allusion.

"And pray, no one will ask you _when_ Madame de Treville came to _be_ Madame de Treville?" she squinted at him.

"Oh, certainly they will. But Madame de Treville is a young, shy and pious woman who prefers to spend her time in solitude, away from the rambunctious life of court. She is also…" he was cut off by a loud and hearty laugh from his young musketeer. He looked at her with annoyance for interrupting his perfect fantasy of his perfect wife.

"Tell me, why would the…what was it again? Ah yes... the young, shy and pious Madame de Treville forsake her beloved solitude in the country in exchange for the rambunctious life at court?" she demanded, theatrically, barely suppressing her laughter.

He pursed his lips.

Then more seriously, she added, "If you were to make me a spy at court, you had better come up with a much better story than that."

"Very well, then," he conceded and plopped back down on his chair. "What do _you_ propose?"

"First and foremost, do you not think that people would notice the _remarkable_ difference between your wife and the musketeer Aramis?"

"Perhaps. But I can assure you: most will be far busier admiring the… other areas of your… physique than trying to scrutinize where they had seen your face before," he retorted, his eyes resting a few inches below her neck. His gaze troubled her but the feeling of allure and the power that she clearly exuded over him was beginning to be too much to resist.

Something took over her. Something new… something irresistible.

She didn't recognize the person who rose from her own chair, placed each of her arms on either side of the chair where the Captain sat, each of her legs on either side of his, their knees touching. She then knelt forward so that their foreheads almost touched.

Then, she slowly and tantalizingly unbuttoned her doublet, revealing a laced-up chemise which she promptly undid. He held his breath and swallowed with difficulty. He could now see the white bandage that held her breasts prisoner. Save for a subtle cleavage at the top that showcased her round breasts, there would be no telling that she was, in fact, a woman.

"By most, do you mean _you_, Captain?" she whispered to him. _Good God_, he badly wanted to put his hand behind her neck and kiss her right and then there. But that meant giving up to her, that meant proving to her that he was an animal who cared for nothing more than her body. He hands gripped his armrests tighter in attempt to exercise control over his body. Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of discipline and he will not give in as though he were a mindless pubescent boy.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, severing the prolonged and heavy eye contact that they had sustained ever since she spontaneously adopted this position just a minute ago. But he knew that if he continued to look in her eyes a second longer, he would undoubtedly lose himself.

"Only if that is what you want, Madame," he challenged her, holding her gaze once more. A faint smirk dessinated on his face.

She lingered in her place. Will he do it? Will he attempt something finally? A part of her wanted him to, but it never came. Eventually, she sniggered and pulled away, returning to her seat. She left her doublet open and her chemise unlaced.

….

"I cannot possibly play both Aramis and Madame de Treville at the same time," she declared, "So, what will you do with Aramis while your pretend _wife_ is at court, without raising suspicion?"

"Oh, that could be anything. A vacation, an injury, an illness. I could even send him on a long and arduous spy mission to Spain," he offered.

She chuckled, "Yes, your musketeer with the golden hair and the piercing blue eyes will blend quite well at the Spanish court. Meanwhile, the obvious choice, namely Athos – who, not only could pass as a Spaniard but could also speak and understand the language – would remain here in France."

"Good God! Fine, then, I'll send him to England!" he lashed at her, almost spilling his drink, "Satisfied?"

She merely smiled and took a sip of her brandy. She loved exasperating him.

She infuriated him and yet, his body couldn't help but react at the image of her: she sat up straight, her chest puffed out, her lips half parted and moistened with the drink. How he longed to run his tongue along that delicate skin! Her golden hair framed her perfect face, accentuating her eyes, which were half closed. She was relaxed, he could tell. Oh, he longed to do so much more than just kiss her, he thought to himself, as his eyes discretely traveled from her bosom and rested on the area between her legs. He subconsciously licked his lips as he imagined what she would taste like.

…..

"Will I live at my demure during this trial period?"

"You will live with me in my manor…" Before he could finish, she cut him off.

"What?! _Here_? Among the musketeers?"

"Certainly not. I have another demure which I never use. It's not too far from the Louv…" she cut him off again.

"And where will _you_ live? _Here_?" her voice betrayed a hint of apprehension.

He exhaled with frustration. Suddenly he felt as though the clock was reset and it was six years ago: he was conversing with an obstinate adolescent all over again.

"Naturally, since I would be married, I will live with my wife at my manor. You will have your own private chambers. I will only ask you to dine with me," then he added, "To keep up appearances, for we will have servants."

"Of course," her reply was subdued. Servants… Manor… dining… What a distant life that was! Was that what she really wanted? Yet in another life, it would have _been_ her life had she married Francois. Her only occupation would have been to manage a house, to manage servants, host soirees, produce offspring and support her husband in whichever he chose to do. All of which, she would have done gladly and contentedly for him. For Francois. Can she now do the same for anyone else?

A thought suddenly occurred to her and it came out of her mouth before she could stop it:

"Do you want children?"

She took him by surprise. He raised his eyebrows, then took a large sip of his drink and poured himself some more.

"I don't know, frankly. Do you?"

"I don't know," she replied quietly.

"There's time to discuss that later," he said, ending that discussion as abruptly as it began.

….

The bottle had finished by this time. Treville was almost certain of his victory but he could tell she was still apprehensive. Was it the idea of being with him that was so terrible? He felt a bit disappointed.

"What worries you?" he prompted her.

"What if someone does make the connection between me and Aramis?" she looked genuinely concerned. She was seeking more reassurance from him, a feeling that warmed him much more than the brandy ever could. He was also relieved that it wasn't in fact the idea of being with him that was clouding her mind.

"Listen, if someone asks, we could simply say that you are the sister of Aramis. I sent him on a dangerous mission and he charged me with taking care of the only family he had left, so in order to do the honorable thing, I married her. Who would ever know?"

_How kind of Aramis to marry his sister off for her protection!_ she chuckled into her drink.

However, it did sound plausible. Very plausible, in fact! Plus, there was a way out, too. Whatever she decided to do, Renee can either go back to a convent somewhere or Aramis could be killed on his mission.

"It's still dangerous. It's folly and mad, this idea!" she burst out, the panic overcoming her at the thought of being found out.

He took her hands in his and kissed them. A gesture that was so unexpected and tender.

"It's funny," he said, grinning.

"What is?"

"'Folly and madness'. Things I remember saying to _you_ six years ago. Right here, no less."

She smiled at him and their eyes met. They had history, her and him. They had been complicit together once before. They had come so far together. She had grown with him, under his direction, under his nurturing. He had given her her life once before. A life that had uplifted her, made her strong, allowed her to accomplish her vengeance thereby bringing her soul some peace; a life that gave her friendship and camaraderie. He had given her all of this once. Why should this time be any different?

** the prompt to the challenge came from Milady taunting Aramis in Joelle-sama's story, "Le Triangle", Chapter 14:

"Do you prefer your Captain Treville? He might be older, but women can love men with experience. Oh yes, he's just like you. Behind his austere manners is hidden a big pervert who thinks of nothing but shoving it into your slit when the other soldiers are out! He jealously loves his dirty little travestite...Think about it: would he prefer to do you, while you lay on his desk? or in the stable's hay? your cute little a** up in the air, he pulls on your hair to force you to arch your back!...Oh, i bet you know how to discharge his musket!..."

I encourage you to read her awesome and exciting story here:

s/11031353/1/Le-Triangle-La-trahison-d-Athos


	6. Renée

**Chapter 6: Renée**

The trial period proved to be exactly that: a trial. Renée d'Herblay was a difficult woman, as Treville came to realize rapidly. But what could he say? She had warned him. Multiple times, in fact. He had to contend himself with her now and find a way to get along with her in this new dynamic.

He had taken it upon himself to teach her some essential lessons in mannerisms and other customs of high society. It shouldn't be too difficult, since Renée already had an aristocratic upbringing. Unfortunately, he grossly miscalculated. The sixteen-year-old Renée was right: teaching her how to be a lady and a wife was a great deal more consuming than making her into a musketeer.

She was rebellious, sarcastic, judgemental and critical of every single ritual he attempted to teach her. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if her failure to grasp proper table manners was because she genuinely was incapable of it or if she simply wanted to persist in vexing him. They spent their days mostly in anger and frustration.

"I never signed up for this!" she would lash out at him before leaving the room. It was all he had done since they had begun their trial to survey her around the clock and criticize her every move or correct her language. _You do not say this at court, you do not do that… etc._ Was this what marriage to him would be like? For a moment, when they were in his office, she actually believed that he harbored some affection for her, some tenderness and maybe even on a deep hidden level, love.

But there was none of that. She simply transferred from one regiment to another. He was her Captain here as much – and maybe more – than he ever was when she was a musketeer. At the end of each day, she went to bed feeling mentally exhausted from battling constantly with this stubborn man. She felt worn out from trying to assert herself in his presence. It was as if, as Renée, she became somehow a lesser person to him, a person he could control, reproach and then neglect or insult if she wasn't obeying him. In other words, it was quite the opposite of what she had hoped for when she had agreed to this.

However, as much as they argued and as exasperating as she was, _he_ had never felt happier. He never felt any prouder than to be able to call this untameable woman his wife. This idea strengthened his resolve to marry her. He was certain that there was no other woman in the world he could ever love.

…..

He had suggested some dance lessons. The activity doubling as an excuse for him to touch her, to wrap his arms around her and be as close to her as much as the propriety of the situation allowed.

He had begun these lessons as a strict instructor, but realized after some time and a few slaps, that that was not the way to go with Renée. For weeks, she exasperated him by deliberately making the wrong moves or accidentally stepping on his feet and then bursting out in laughter. While he had taken the activity quite seriously, devoting his precious time and energy to it, she saw it as a joke and that infuriated him. Jean-Armand de Treville was an efficient man and despite the intimacy these lessons provided him, her disregard for his time was insulting. He had also hoped that she would respond positively to the close contact and was consequently hurt when she hadn't reciprocated, which further aggravated him.

Several times, he lost his temper, hurled some hurtful words at her as he clenched his fists before unceremoniously storming out. On the last occasion he did that, he had called her an undisciplined and disrespectful savage before he violently stormed out.

That was but a culmination of a few days that were extraordinarily charged and full of unrelenting arguments that bordered on violence. It was all he could do, in fact, to leave the room. Otherwise, he would have stricken her – an urge that had been creeping up on him over the past few weeks.

However, as he exited the room, he had realized he had forgotten his sword and as he was about to re-enter, a strange sound stopped him short: she was sobbing. His glorious warrior Aramis was in tears.

And then he realized something: Renée posed as Aramis for the regiment, for the Captain, for the King, for her mission. Aramis was skilled in keeping a front. But behind closed doors, Aramis remained Renée. And Renée must have been lonely with only grief for company. Meanwhile, he had gotten so caught up in his militaristic approach in shaping her into the perfect wife, he had forgotten about the most important thing he had set out to do: to make her happy.

All he wanted to do was to walk over to her, pick her up in his arms and take away all her pain. But he knew that would only exacerbate things; it would irreparably injure the pride of Aramis, who was evidently still present.

From then on, he changed some things: the dance lessons were reserved as a time for leisure and enjoyment. He let her lead, he let her fall and sometimes he fell with her. They laughed together and they made fools of themselves. It became a precious time for him; it was the time when she was at her most radiant, laughing and playful. Her warmth and her youth were invigorating to him. Shame on him for ever attempting to suppress that, he blushed as he thought to himself.

….

Their daily dinner also became a jolly affair, wherein it once was an opportunity for a sordid lesson on table manners and thus another battleground in and of itself.

Treville surprised her one day, just as he did with the dance lessons, by giving up his post as her tutor. Blasted with any manners that will come between him and his beautiful radiant musketeer.

There was nothing mannered about their dinner anymore. She sat with her legs crossed underneath her and her elbows on the table, as she rested her chin on her hands. She ate like a soldier, with appetite and with gusto. They would talk for hours. He would recount some battle stories of his youth, to which she listened intently and reacted animatedly, giving her input here and there on the soundness of the battle strategies. They talked about their childhoods, about the places where they grew up. They would reminisce about missions and villains they had conquered together. They even poked fun at the courtiers, with Treville revealing some very raunchy scandals, which elicited rambunctious laughter from his companion. Overall, he had to admit: it was simply delightful.

If they had no obligations early in the morning, they would retire to the library where they would sit on a small cozy sofa, sipping brandy and continuing their conversation. If the conversation ran dry, Treville would suggest a book or two and they would both sit in silence, reading, exchanging glances every once in a while.

Once, on one of those nights, she had felt a cramp in her leg as a result from sitting with her knees up, her heels pressed to her rear. She stretched her legs out instinctively only to realize at the last minute that her "husband" was at the receiving end. Wide-eyed at her own scandalous behaviour, she murmured her excuses and immediately began to pull away when he placed his hand firmly on her legs, forcing them in place on his lap. Without looking at her, he continued reading his book nonchalantly while he gently massaged them through the black tissue of her dress.

She looked around her in confusion. What should she do? Should she move away? Fake an excuse to go to bed? Oh, but how good his touch felt, how relaxing! He wasn't bothered by it at all, nor was he offended that his own soldier had the audacity to extend her legs right onto his lap. Ah, but she was no longer a soldier. She was the Captain's wife now. This was a trial to see if she enjoyed it, wasn't it? Well, she certainly did, she had to admit. She closed her eyes and lay her head back, savouring his caresses and losing herself in her own thoughts, a faint smile on her face.

…

This life afforded her a certain level of comfort that she never even thought she had missed until she had experienced it again. She could order a bath any time she wanted. She no longer had to smell like gunpowder and horse manure all the time. And her hair! It had never been so glamorous. Even she, herself was quite mesmerized by it. Her maid took such dedicated care of it. She brushed it twice a day, she doused it with oils and perfume and she curled it with her fingers so diligently and carefully, it became quite the masterpiece. In fact, it became her defining feature at court. _Treville's Golden Wife_. She sniggered, thinking of Porthos' comment "the Captain's Golden Boy".

She had a wardrobe now that consisted of a multitude of dresses, and each week a new one would be made for her depending on the occasion. She had to admit, she loved having new dresses, she loved seeing herself differently and looking differently every day. For now, she only commissioned dresses that were somber and discrete but she knew that, had she wanted a dress like the Queen's, she only need ask and her "husband" would oblige her with anything she wanted. He had already given her a few sets of jewellery as well. He had brought in from his estate those that belonged to his family, but he also bought her a few new trinkets, like a delicate silver bracelet and a matching necklace. She could still feel the warmth of his body as he stood behind her, his fingers gently caressing the bare skin of her neck as he adjusted the clasp of the necklace and stood behind her to admire it.

They also dined like royalty. Literally. As Captain of the King's guard, Treville had the privilege of the Palace's kitchens. Their food would come from the Louvre and it was always a scrumptious affair. They had invited Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan to dinner a few times even, to the great pleasure of Porthos.

But most importantly, she never dined alone. She had a companion now and quite a pleasant one too. It was such a refreshing and welcome change from her solitude. Certainly, she used to spend her nights at the taverns with her comrades, but the night would end either with one of them having to be dragged back to their demure out of drunkenness, or either one or both of them would take a woman and spend the night with her. Either way, Aramis would simply make her way home and into her cold bed.

Her bed was never cold at Treville's. After dinner, her companion would walk with her to the foot of the stairs leading to her chambers, he would bow to her with reverence and bring her hand to his lips affectionately before sending her off to bed. When she was in good humor, like after an enjoyable evening, she would gently press her palms to his chest and plant a kiss on his cheek, murmuring a thank you and a good night before traipsing happily to her bedroom.

He loved that gesture beyond anything but oh, how difficult it was becoming for him to restrain himself from gluing her waist to his and attacking her mouth with his lips! How often, after these encounters, he would find himself alone in bed, his hand between his legs moving lasciviously, as his mind conjured up a scenario in which he actually _would _grab her by the waist and carry up the stairs to have his way with her. Little did he know that she, too, had very similar thoughts as she herself would slide under her sheets and excite herself with her fingers…

…

Life at court was not as boring as she had previously dreaded. In fact, Treville was right: there was a great deal of information that she was able to glean from the courtiers, both men and women. In no time, she had learned all of their names and was able to discern who was loyal to the King and who exhibited tendencies otherwise. Through the wives and mistresses, Renée learned a lot about the activities of their husbands and lovers; about who consorted with whom and when and helped was that Aramis knew all the secret passages around the Louvre, so she could expertly spy on those she had suspicions about.

…

During a soiree one evening, Renée was too busy surveying the room, as was her habit, that she did not notice the two women who made their way across the room and sat next to her.

"Oh, my, Madame de Treville, how positively cross you look!" one of them giggled.

"And on such a lovely evening, too," the one on her right put in. Renée looked at the two newcomers and recognized them as the Duchess Maria de Villars and the Comtesse Anna de Beaudry. These women were two of the most important informers to the infamous inner circle of gossipers led by the Duchess Marie de Chevreuse. If there was anyone who knew everything there is to know about the secret life at court and elsewhere in France, it was surely these two women. _Nothing_ escaped them.

So far, Renée had successfully avoided them, so as not to get into a situation where they would quiz her about her origins while remarking the uncanny similarity between her and the musketeer Aramis. Even if she was to tell them that Aramis was her twin, they would surely see right through her.

She gulped. What did they want from her? Did they know she was spying? Have they come to blackmail her? Did they want to ruin the Captain's reputation? Have they somehow discovered her dual identity and come to warn her they were about to denounce her publicly right here right now?

The sweat was creeping through her evening gown. She could feel herself drowning in it. She was panicking. She looked in the direction of the Captain, who was looking back at her with apprehension. Had he also realized the gravity of the situation? He almost made a step towards her, to rescue her, when someone caught him by the arm and pulled him back into a conversation.

She realized that her silent plea towards Treville was not unnoticed by the two women_. _They regarded her with raised eyebrows and an increasing curiosity. They were definitely on to her now._ Oh God, oh God, oh God, what to do! _

The Duchess, a ravishing young woman in her late twenties, leaned in to whisper to something to her. _Here it comes…_

"Don't worry, my dear, we have all been there. Broiling and cross with our husbands, completely helpless to do anything about it while we have to sit like polite dogs and nod and smile."

Renée was completely taken off guard. Her head shot up and she plunged her blue eyes into the hazel green of the Duchess, which glimmered with nothing but compassion and solidarity.

The Duchess extended her arm to Renée, "Come, my darling, let us talk somewhere… quieter, shall we?"

Thus, arm in arm with these two women, she followed them out of the room while her "husband" stared after her with a mixture of intrigue and worry.

…..

They stood by the stairs leading up to her chambers.

"Did you enjoy yourself this evening?" he asked her. She could sense a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Oh, very much. You could say it was the best evening thus far," she replied, grinning.

He gulped, "Well, I'm… err… glad that you are…. Enjoying yourself thus far."

She nodded and flashed him a warm smile.

"Say," he pursued, without waiting for her response, "I saw you leave the room with the Duchess de Villars and the Comtesse de Beaudry." _Ah, there it was,_ she smirked to herself, _he had come to glean some information_ and she perfectly understood why.

The ladies, she would soon discover as the evening went on, had no interest in _her_ whatsoever. Oh, but how much they longed to know about Capitaine de Treville! That mysterious man who was enshrouded in an armour of total and absolute ambiguity. In other words, a gold mine for gossipers like the Duchess and her friends. ***

_"What is he like?"_

_"Is he grave all the time, as he is at court?"_

_"Oh, I bet he is a passionate lover underneath all that reserve!" one of them giggled, to which Aramis blushed a crimson red, prompting everyone to assume it was actually true. _

_"No one knows _anything_ about him, you_ must_ tell us everything!" they begged her._

_"Does he pleasure you as a proper soldier ought to do?" one of them ventured, which Aramis recognized as one of Porthos' previous mistresses._

_"Oh, how handsome he is!"_

_"Any plans for children? He must have the stamina to sire a whole army if he wanted to! The question is, do _you_?" The room was filled with giggles._

_"Is it true he stopped sleeping at the garrison since your arrival? Do you share your bed with him every night?"_

Thanks to the past few years spent in the company of someone as diplomatic and eloquent as Athos, she successfully managed to dodge these incessant questions without having to give, or rather, make up, any indecent responses.

However, there was one particular question that she had decided to pursue…

"_Oh it has been forever since anyone had known anything about the Captain of the Musketeers. The last thing was more than fifteen years ago. He was Madame Claremont's lover for a short time, you see. Everyone was _sure_ he would propose to her but it never happened."_

_"Oh, the poor thing was unhappy about it. But it wasn't long before she found someone else, wasn't it?"_

_"Yes, I believe it was…"_

The conversation continued as Aramis stared at an undefined point in space. So, her Capitaine used to be in the habit of taking up mistresses at some point in his life. She wondered why he had stopped. Or rather, why had he not married Madame Claremont? She was a widow in her forties but back then, she would have been in her late twenties and from what Aramis knew, she was a ravishing and seductive woman. Everything _she_ wasn't. She sighed and rejoined the conversation when one of the women began giggling uncontrollably.

"_Oh, I just remembered! Madame Claremont is in the habit of giving pet names to her lovers and using them ever so publicly! Did she not have one for Treville?"_

_"By God, so she did!"_

The whole room burst with uncontrollable laughter. Even Renée couldn't contain her smile. So _that's _why he never married Claremont. And now, he was prying to know whether she had found out his deepest most shameful secret: the infamous pet name generously bestowed upon him by his rambunctious mistress!

"Yes, the Duchess and the Comtesse are fascinating ladies," she said nonchalantly in response to his query.

"Well, they seemed to take an interest in you." He casually wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Maybe," she replied with the same tone, "Probably because I am new and strangers intrigue them. They know _everything,_ you know."

"Hmm. So I have heard."

"You wouldn't believe it, they actually took me to a private and secret salon that is exclusive to some of the most prominent women in France."

_"_Did they?"

"Mmm. They know all kinds of things. It's as if Catherine's Flying Squadron never died," she said in a whisper, adding a wink.

"And... What _did_ they talk about exactly?"

"Oh, you know, feminine things."

"Ahh."

"And occasionally... Men of the court."

Treville stiffened.

"Did they mention anything... of interest?" he probed.

Renée pretended to look up as if trying hard to remember. "Not particularly, no."

"Ah well then, it's good they welcomed you. Keep listening…err…I mean keep up the good work… I mean…. Very well then, good night."

He brought her hand to his lips and she could feel the clamminess on his. She had never seen him so nervous and it was adorable!

"Good night, Monsieur de Treville," she kissed his cheek and began ascending the stairs.

Without stopping or turning around she called back out to him:

"Or I should say, rather, my _chirpy blue nightingale_."

He stopped short, wide-eyed and clenched his fists tightly. So, she _did_ know! He turned around to retaliate only to see her disappear, her giggles and laughter echoing in the staircase.

*** I have adopted joelle-sama's Gossip Girls for this chapter.


	7. The Dress

"Thank you, that will be all," her tone was authoritative but not unkind.

The maid bowed and left the room. Renée sighed and stood in front of the large looking glass. It was a new day at the court, which meant a new dress. She had gotten into the habit of wearing conservative dresses with dark colors, but her "husband" insisted on this particular dress. Thus, contrary to the usual, this dress had a low décolletage, showcasing the firm roundness of her bosom while highlighting her fine waist. She was taller and slimmer than most women at court, which in and of itself was enough to draw attention, without her having to wear anything conspicuous.

Today, however, was a special occasion: The King and Queen were to have a tea party at the Louvre. As Captain of his guard, Treville had to be present by his monarch. As the wife of the Captain, _she_, in turn, had to accompany her husband as a proper lady of her rank.

She sighed again, this time more profoundly, as she placed her hands on her hips and gazed at herself from different angles. _What monstrosity! _The fashion was to wear pastel colors for a tea party, so Renée found herself in a rose-colored dress that was heavily trimmed with white lace. It brought out her figure quite handsomely but the color was abominable. She looked like a porcelain doll.

A soft knock on the door sounded as her maid poked her head in, "Madame, Monsieur de Treville is waiting impatiently for you."

Renée rolled her eyes. He had adopted this annoying habit of sending the maid to say he was "_impatiently"_ waiting every time they had an occasion to attend.

"This is not the regiment," she had scolded him at dinner one time, "You cannot expect your _wife_ to conform to a militaristic punctuality. You wanted Renée, not Aramis, _n'est-ce pas_? Well, there you have it so content yourself with it." They had argued heatedly afterwards, which, had they actually been married, she was sure would have ended in a night of passion. She smiled to herself coyly. After a couple of months of acting in this play they were staging, she had become accustomed to her own indecent thoughts about her Captain. They no longer troubled her. Rather, the intimacy that had formed between them made the forbidden part all too exciting, giving more fuel to her nascent fantasies.

As they rode in the carriage, he rebuked:

"May I remind you, that I am not a simple Comte or a Duke who has all the time in the world. I am Captain of the Musketeers and in charge of the King's security. You know this above all else, for God's sake, _Aramis_. We _cannot_ be late. Do I make myself clear?"

They glared at each other before she turned away and murmured, "Yes, Capitaine."

He huffed and adjusted himself into a more comfortable, less tense position. He took her hand in his, a habit he had picked up recently in order to "keep up appearances".

She was displeased at the way he had just scolded her and he scolded her often. When he did that, she retaliated either with a vulgar witty reply, to which he would become angry and a heated argument would ensue, or she would simply ignore him for hours. In either case, he always came back to win her forgiveness and affection again. Today, however, she was in no mood for an argument. She abruptly took her hand away from his in a rebellious attempt to convey her crossness. He rolled his eyes, shook his head and looked out the window. This was going to be a long day…

…..

The tea party was held in one of the vast gardens of the Louvre. The women sat under a tent, chatting, giggling and gossiping while the men stood here and there, conversing and discussing affairs of the state. The King held audience with some duke or another, Captain de Treville on one side of him and the Cardinal Richelieu on the other.

Renee observed them with resentment. She felt suffocated in this infernal corset that came with the dress. It pressed on her lungs and dugs into her ribs. Her militaristic body desperately wanted to stand upright in what had become a usual and comfortable pose for her, but alas, she had to remain seated and endure.

She was getting tired. Could she really go on like this? She threw a glance or two at Captain de Treville, who seemed absorbed in his conversation. Naturally, for it was his occupation, his passion, his duty. Should she become his wife, this would become_ her_ duty. All of this, the court, the appearances, the ridiculous outfits. Once upon a time, Renee was ready for this, she had wanted this. She had wanted to be everything she could be for her husband, for Francois.

But Renee was no more.

With this profound realization, Aramis walked away from the crowd towards a fountain across the gardens. She stared at her reflection. Who was this person anyway?

"Madame de Treville!"

Startled, she turned around to see a man with a grand stature, an exaggerated moustache and a sly look on his face.

She grimaced. _Admiral de Pouilleux.*_

She had met the Admiral only once, many years ago, when she was only a musketeer cadet. She was in the company of Athos and Porthos – naturally – when the two intervened on behalf of a lady at court who was being harassed by him. He was a wealthy man with a grand title and a noble lineage, which greatly inflated his already gross sense of entitlement. Entitlement to wealth, to praise, to power and to women.

So far, Aramis had congratulated herself on there having been no scandal or ill behaviour on her part at court. It was not easy, that was for certain, but nothing of great significance had happened to warrant any kind of excessive reaction. She didn't mind the women who whispered behind her back, she didn't mind the men who discretely admired her, she didn't mind the fact that she was no longer wielding a sword or a musket at her disposal. Well, maybe a little, admittedly. All in all, however, it was better than she had expected. Mainly because she hadn't factored in one important thing: she was Capitaine de Treville's wife and no one would ever dare touch her or insult her, for they would have to answer to the third most powerful man in France.

That is, until now.

….

The carriage ride home was heavy with tension. Neither one of them spoke to the other. As they reached their demure, Aramis stepped off the carriage, unassisted and stormed into the house, stomping directly to her rooms, where she slammed the door with such force the whole concrete building shook.

Jean-Armand de Treville was a brave man known for his wit on the battlefield and his skill in armed conflict. So, as he grasped the handle of the door that his "wife" had just slammed and stepped into the room, he knew well beforehand that he was entering a losing battle.

…..

It had been a losing battle since the beginning. What was he expecting, really? Aramis was a soldier. She walked like one, she talked like one, she moved like one. Her very soul was the soul of a musketeer and as he began to realize that, he began to regret having made her that proposal in the first place. She didn't belong as a wife. At least not to him, rather, to the sword and to her regiment.

He longed to be angry at her, to reproach her, to scold her, to slap her even. But he could only look at her with a mixture of pity and compassion. He couldn't blame her. In fact, a part of him was even proud.

He only heard fragments of what had really happened. Some pieces he had collected from onlookers, some from the servants who rushed to the scene and some from in between her disgruntled speech, which he forced out of her on the way to the carriage, as he shamefully dragged her out of the gardens by her arm.

And like a good wife, she said nothing. She simply let him drag her out in that appalling manner. It was only after he heard her side of the story that he felt utter shame and remorse for his behaviour. He felt as though he was becoming a man he did not recognize. Maybe this married life was not for him after all.

Now, he stood helpless in the doorway, as he watched the woman he loved hysterically throwing what little belongings she had brought with her into the little bag she had come with. Her coiffure had become undone and dishevelled, her cheeks were red with whatever mix of unpleasant emotions she was feeling and occasionally, she would tug at her dress with such violence so as to tear it off, only to be met back with an incredible resistance.

"I can't do this…

this has to end now…

it's not for me…

I'm not Renee, I can't be who you want…

Bring back Aramis…"

She kept uttering these disjointed phrases as she sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, struggling to hold back her tears. Enough was enough. She could tolerate no more. There was no going back. There was only Aramis, Renee had died.

"Ahhhhh!" she screamed, "And this STUPID PIECE OF BLOODY HELL!"

She picked up a dagger and attempted to slice through the fabric of her corset when a gentle hand stopped her. He took the weapon away and encircled her in his arms. She let him and she let herself go along with the tears of frustration.

….

The Admiral had approached her to a point of intruding on her personal space. She had recoiled and taken a few steps back. He stopped and gave her a wry smile.

"There will be a hunting party in a week, I suppose you and your husband will be attending?"

"I think not."

"What a shame! I bet you are… quite skilled with a musket," he replied with a smirk, as he sized her up and down. Oh, what a treat Treville must be getting! What a pleasure to put a proud and haughty woman like her in a degrading position to fuck her in!

Before she could retaliate, he had grabbed her waist and pressed his lips onto her bare décolletage.

"Forget about Treville, I can show you a much more exciting sport," he breathed onto her skin.

Her eyes were wide with horror. The worst part was that, as a musketeer, Aramis would have anticipated and lunged at her opponent within the first split second of sensing an attack.

Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the hair, maybe it was her vanity, or maybe she had simply been Renee for too long, but it took her quite a long minute to react and by that time, the Admiral had covered most of her upper half with his disgusting tongue.

But the reaction, when it kicked it, came swift and merciless. She kicked him in between his legs, then twisted his arm, grabbed his sword and, taking advantage of his loss of balance, she pushed him with all her force into the fountain, where he landed violently on his rear.

"You little…!" he began, but stopped short when he felt the blade of his own sword on his neck. She didn't stop there. She climbed onto the fountain and all the onlookers could hear was several consecutive slashes.

She ripped his clothes one by one, before delivering two very elegant slashes to his face.

"No one touches the musketeer Aramis," she said as she tossed the sword and walked away.

….

She now stood with her hands on her hips, regulating her breath. He had calmed her down. Unexpectedly, she found refuge in his arms from the storm that was brewing in her head.

It was thus his fingers that worked delicately and mechanically in undoing the laces that held this infernal rosy pink dress together.

"Isn't that the maid's task?" she ventured.

"I thought we might give her a break tonight. The poor girl, she wouldn't be able to withstand your temper," he teased her.

Aramis blushed and chuckled softly.

"Was I that bad?" she asked in a barely audible voice. Now that her indignation had left her, she suddenly became aware of how much scandal she had caused her Captain.

"Frankly…" he began. She held her breath, in anticipation of the scolding she was about to receive.

"Frankly, it was quite the comedic spectacle. He will forever be known as the man who swam naked in the King's fountain," he laughed.

A big smile dessinated on her face.

"But," he continued, in a more serious tone, "I still think he deserves a solid punishment. Perhaps the musketeer Aramis can oblige us when he returns shortly from his mission?"

She swallowed with difficulty. There it was. He had felt it too. This phrase marked the end of their trial.

…

They were silent for the next few minutes, contemplating the gravity of his last words and their implication. It was over. No more Monsieur and Madame de Treville.

No more balls, no more court, no more dresses.

No more dinners together, no more carriage rides, no more quiet nights in the library…

The hair on her skin stood up suddenly as she felt his fingers on her bare back. He had finally succeeded in undoing the laces and the corset, with its entourage, came undone. She quickly brought her hand to her bust to hold the dress in place before it slid to the floor and left her naked.

And yet… would that be such a bad thing?

She could feel his breath on her skin. His fingers lingered where they are, tracing invisible lines along her back. She leaned her head back towards him. He took a step forward, closing in the space between them.

Gosh, how tantalizing she was! He desperately wanted to glide his fingers lower and lower… From this vantage point, he could see over her shoulder. The dress had dropped a little and she was awkwardly clutching it in place; but he could see the pink hue of one of her breasts. He bit his tongue. How much longer can he possibly control himself?!

He brought his hand upwards to her bare shoulder, where he traced his fingers on the soft and supple skin between the shoulder blade and her neck. He could feel her body reverberate with his touch, her breath becoming heavier, louder. She closed her eyes and inclined her head to the other side, allowing him more room to caress her.

_She wanted him!_ He thought excitedly. She wanted him as much as he wanted her!

With his other hand, he turned her head back towards him. Her eyes were filled with lust, with desire. She was pleading for him. She inched slightly more, offering him those sweet pink lips that he had dreamed of so much of late. Can he? Should he?

_By God, yes!_

His grip tightened on her body as he kissed her with all the passion that had been boiling within him over the last few months. It was further intensified by the delicious throaty sighs and moans that escaped her. _She_ desired _him._ After all this time he had held back, thinking she could never want someone like him… She had wanted him all along.

He broke his embrace and began tracing a humid line with his tongue down her neck, biting her gently along the way, eliciting more of these obscene moans. _And this was only the beginning!_ he thought to himself. How he ached to penetrate her, to fuck her, to make love to her over and over! This splendid and magnificent goddess! His musketeer, his Aramis, _his_…

Alas, but she wasn't his.

….

Her eyes were closed. Her body had completely melted into his. She was longing for him, anticipating, fantasizing about what will happen next. She lazily opened her eyes as she realized that his ardour was beginning to fade.

Maybe he was waiting for her to say something? To let him know she was agreeable to this.

She kissed him ardently and whispered, "You know, there is one thing we haven't… tried out as a married couple yet," she said suggestively.

He kissed her again on the lips, this time without using his tongue to explore her.

What on earth...?! Had she done something wrong?

He gazed at her longingly and said, "But we're not, are we?"

Her heart sank. She clutched her dress tighter to her body.

He took her hand and kissed it, "Good night, Aramis."

Then, he left.

…

"_You cannot be serious!_" she whispered to herself, flabbergasted by what just happened. She opened the door of her bedroom and stood in the doorway, a look of pure determination in her eyes.

"TREVILLE!" she shouted at him.

He stopped short in his tracks; half taken aback by this audacity of using his last name with no titles.

He turned around and they stared each other down like two opponents at the ready to fire their pistols.

After everything she had endured, he will give her exactly what she wanted.

"_En garde_," she challenged him. With that, she watched with such satisfaction as his features transformed into utter bewilderment, as her hand ungripped the dress and it came sliding down with all its rosy grandeur, leaving in its place a glorious nudity that was beguiling and utterly irresistible.

* Many thanks to Yael92 for introducing Admiral Pouilleux


	8. The Duel

**This chapter includes very mature content and concepts. It is only suitable for those aged 18+**

As a combatant, Aramis was exceptionally supple, nimble, flexible and quick in her movement. She knew how to dodge and escape her opponents and then to turn on them with such speed so as to deliver her attack, without giving them the chance to respond.

So, it was an unusual situation that she found herself in this very moment: completely paralyzed, held down in place, unable to move, to punch, to kick, or to even turn her head. Not that she wanted to anyway…

She had made a great miscalculation: her adversary knew her inside out. He knew the way she moved; he knew the way _every single muscle_ in her body moved. He could anticipate anything she was about to do. Naturally, for he had trained her, instructed her, scrutinized her on a daily basis. He had _made_ her.

So, it wasn't difficult for him.

He could bear it no more. His mind knew nothing else except one thing: to possess this Amazonian goddess who stood nude before him, challenging him. _As if she stood a chance!_

With uncharacteristic speed, he lunged towards her, pulled her painfully by the wrist back into the room and slammed the door shut, while murmuring something about the indecency and scandal this might cause for the servants.

But before she could retaliate, which she was utterly on the ready to do, he had immobilised her. To accomplish that, he played on every single one of her weak points, which he knew quite well. He then used to his advantage the one thing his musketeer had always lacked: raw physical strength.

Thanks to her fine waist and slim feminine body, it was easy for him to comfortably imprison her between both of his legs. The sheer muscular force of his thighs pressed her knees together so tightly, it prevented her from utilizing this key joint. His blond musketeer depended on her legs first and foremost in battle; to elude and dodge, to kick and maintain balance and flexibility. He had thus shut down her primary strength.

Next, he grabbed both her arms behind her back and trapped her wrists within his fist. Her wrists were thinner and leaner than those of a man's, which made it easy for him to hold them together in one hand, in a solid iron grip, thereby snuffing her second most valuable asset – her arms.

In a real conflict, should his musketeer have found herself in this situation, the solution was obvious: she would use her head to deliver a blow to her attacker's nose from behind. But Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of sound strategy. There were so many other places on this divine warrior's body where he would have liked to grab with this free hand, but he wanted to prove a point: he wanted to conquer her.

He had thus grabbed her hair from the neck, curled it around his fist and pulled forcefully on it. This caused her neck to tilt as far back as he willed it. In a real conflict, a few more inches lower and he could finish her by breaking her neck. Instead, he chose to keep her in this uncomfortable position to teach her not to overestimate herself against him. It also gave him full access from above, to feast his eyes on those perfectly firm breasts that had taunted his imagination for so long. Oh, and how delicious they were! Her nipples were erect with the excitement, a hue of dark pink in a sea of a lighter pink that formed her areolas.

She grunted with pain and discomfort. Her neck was cramping, her legs felt weak and his wrist gripped hers so hard, she could feel the flow of blood to that area become restricted. Yet... something about this felt strangely pleasurable.

He turned her head forcefully, and deposited a wet and languorous kiss on her lips, almost suffocating her with his tongue. Before he let go, he made sure to leave a line of his saliva dripping out of her mouth, onto her chin, rolling down towards her breasts.

She gasped, horrified at this obscene gesture. From her Captain above all else!

He then put her back in position, now devoting the same attention to her neck.

"Tell me," he breathed, so close to her ear.

"Mmm?" she could only moan. Speech was difficult, seeing as how her neck was tilted far back.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked her casually.

Her eyes widened with embarrassment, and her cheeks reddened.

"I… What does it matter?"

Sternly, he replied, as if displeased with her response, "I simply want to decide what level of… training to enroll you in with regards to this… discipline," he made sure to pause, to make it clear what he implied.

She swallowed with difficulty.

"And also, to decide in which manner I will make you mine," he added. He could see her breasts heaving up and down.

"Wh… what are the options?"

"Option one," he had turned her around, bent her head to the side and speaking in between long and wet kisses on her neck: "Option one, I take you as a woman on our wedding night. Traditional, but could be brutal, depending."

"Mmm," she murmured, her mind running with the mere idea of feeling him inside of her, a close and realistic eventuality now.

"Option two," he continued, before meeting her gaze and kissing her on the lips gently, "If you're nice enough and do as I tell you, I could deign to give you _some_ control and let you on top of me, so you can ride me like a horse."

Her eyes widened at that obscene allusion. _Oh yes!_

"And… the last option?" her voice was barely audible.

A sly smirk crossed his features, giving him a predatory air; an expression she had never seen before on the face of her Captain. But then again, she hardly recognized him as her Captain in this moment, except for one aspect: he was her superior still, and he will make sure she knew it.

His fingers gently stroked her cheek, as he spoke:

"The third option, my dear, is that I toss you on all fours and take you from behind," then with the back of his hand, he ever so gently slapped her on the cheek, startling her with this gesture of demonstrating his dominance. "I will take you, while your arse is offered up to me, like a little whore."

If he was hoping to shock her, he had definitely succeeded. But he could also see in her wide azure eyes something else: pure lust. Her breath was loud and quick, not because she was scandalized or afraid, but because she wanted him, she wanted all the perverseness he was offering her and due to her lack of experience, her own desire for these pleasures affronted her.

As a response, she merely said, "Only once, six years ago."

He nodded in understanding. She had answered his question and with that, had given him permission by disclosing the level on which she currently was.

He put her forehead to hers and kissed her, "Will you be a good soldier, then and follow my instructions?"

She nodded.

"Good!" he kissed her again.

"On your knees, then, soldier!"

_No… he wasn't going to…Surely, not at first!_ She had heard her comrades recount their sexual escapades countless of times. Even though she was inexperienced herself, she knew exactly what this meant. She knew exactly what was being demanded of her now.

Bewildered, she stood frozen in place, even though he had released from his grip. He said nothing. Once again, he gently clapped the back of his hand on her cheek, before he placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees.

It suddenly dawned on her, as she sat in anxiety while he fiddled with the cords of his culotte, that this was her Captain. This was Treville, Captain of the Musketeers. The man who had taken her in, the man who had been a guardian to her, the man who…

Her thoughts were cut short, when a hand fixed her chin in place, leaving her mouth agape for only a second or two before a fleshy, thick and hard object was inserted into it.

"Mmmm!" she complained. She had tried to move but with no success, for he had already taken her hair in his fist again and was now in control of the movement of her head – which he made use of quite satisfactorily.

He groaned with pleasure, which was further intensified at the sight of his musketeer's mouth wrapped around his phallus! How many times had he fantasized about this?! Once, he even wanted to keep her after hours and shove her under his desk so he can liberate himself into his mouth. His fantasies began to run wild and he was sure that he would lose control if he didn't put a stop to this.

Regretfully, he pulled her neck far back, releasing his sex from her mouth. He looked down at her. She was hyperventilating, her cheeks were crimson red and a thin string of fluid – her saliva mixed with some fluid from his sex – stretched from the corner of her mouth to his sex. _Bloody hell!_ He could come just by this sheer image!

He hoisted her up by the shoulders and threw her onto the bed, where she landed on her back. He then placated his large hands on each of her thighs and spread her legs wide open.

She gasped. _Oh God, here it was_, he was going to fuck her now. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his sex. How could she possibly feel such pleasure from being humiliated like that? To put her on her knees and make her take him in his mouth! Oh, but how exotic it felt! She had felt his sex on her back earlier when he held her. She had felt its hardness grow against her body. But in her mouth, it was hard yet tender at the same time, it was uncomfortable yet satisfying, the act itself was exhausting yet erotic! And now, she was to feel it again, somewhere else, somewhere… deeper.

She closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling his fingers trace firm lines on her thighs, getting closer and closer to her groin. The mere fact and the sensation that she was wide open and on display for him drove her mad with lust.

"Ahhh!" she moaned, as his fingers found their way to her weakest most pleasurable spot. He had barely spent time there before he abruptly stopped and moved away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in this position.

She opened her eyes, flabbergasted. _No… he wasn't going to leave, was he?_ To be brutal was one thing. She could handle brutality. But to be cruel…Her knees instinctively clasped shut on each other. Upon seeing this, he came back and parted them once more. He also grabbed her wrist and deposited it in between her legs.

"_Montrez-moi_," he said simply.

She stared at him questioningly. Show him… _what?_

He perched on top of her and again, clapped his hand gently to her cheek.

"Be a good soldier and show me how you pleasure yourself while you are alone."

"I…"

He clapped his hand on her face again, this time more forcefully, causing her to wince.

"What did we say before, hmm?"

"To follow…your…instructions," she breathed.

He slapped her again, "To follow my instructions, what?"

She didn't know what to reply, so he slapped her again, to motivate her faculty.

"To follow your instructions, _Capitaine_," she uttered the last word through clenched teeth.

"Good!" As he moved off of her, his hand passed on her sex and he slapped it, causing her body to radiate with a peculiar pain that was so incredibly sweet.

…

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Treville had never seen anything so raw, so beautiful, so mesmerizing! Her fingers moved lasciviously on her sex, alternating between circling and insertion. Her head was tilted back, her hair spread out on the pillow, her captivating eyes were half-closed like a lazy feline. And her body! Treville had only seen his musketeer in her uniform, day in and day out; or lately in a dress. But this was something else – a divine image. Every single part of her was sculpted to perfection. When she moved, whether it was in a duel or in passion, every single part of her moved in tandem to help her accomplish what she set her sight to. It was the very definition of being in harmony.

He watched her hypnotically as he relieved himself of his own clothing. He was craving to feel her skin on his or rather, to make _her_ feel _his_ skin on her. Yet as much as the desire burned within him, as much as his sex throbbed and threatened him with pain, he removed his clothes slowly. He wanted to see her in the act, he wanted a front seat to this magical spectacle that was the climax of Aramis.

He approached her guardedly, wary of interrupting her flow. The closer he got to her, she could spy his hand move up and down his shaft. It excited her more and she quickened her pace. He could tell she was close. He perched himself on top of her, his sex caressing hers. That gesture was all she needed. She exploded with a loud moan that bordered on a scream.

She had barely had time to recuperate when he inserted himself inside of her, extracting an equally loud and suppliant moan from his young lover.

_Oh, how good it felt!_ She closed her eyes and let herself go, allowing him the ease to move them both at his own rhythm. His thrusts felt almost calculated. He had pinned her arms to the top of her head with one hand so she couldn't move.

Their eyes met a few times but he never kissed her. He simply regarded her with determination, as if his sole purpose was to prove his dominance over her.

He didn't even try to be subtle about it.

When she recovered from her ecstasy, she looked up at him with doe-eyes and said in a highly feminine voice, "I've been a good soldier, Capitaine."

He paused, completely destabilized by this new and unexpected gesture. She held his gaze with that fake innocence that ripped through to his heart. Then, turning the tables on him, Aramis took advantage of his feeble moment. She removed himself from his grip, placated her hands on his torso and pushed him off violently. He landed on his back and she placed herself triumphantly on top of him.

He chuckled softly before he drew her to him in a most passionate and arduous kiss; their tongues hungrily exploring each other's mouths. She lifted herself and reinserted him inside of her. Her intention was to regain some control, exert some dominance, but the only thing _he_ had wanted to get out of this was the pleasure of massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples until she cried out in pain. So, he let her thrive but only for a short while.

Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of position, of power and of dominance. He refused to let her win. He refused to come in this position, at least not now, not today.

He gripped her from the hips and placed her on her side before he rose himself and then once again from her hips, he put her on all fours. She gasped. She only had time to grab onto the sheets before he entered her again.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out. It was not as painless as she had hoped. This time, his thrusts were hard and deep. They were merciless. And Aramis was a musketeer. She would never admit defeat nor weakness, especially not like this and especially not to _him_.

He wanted to avenge himself for all the anger and frustration she had caused him over the last two months. He had wanted to make her happy, he thought it would all go smoothly but it only served to aggravate him and make him feel older. Now, it was time for her to return the favor, to be the instrument for him to attain his happiness, his carnal pleasure.

With one hand, he grabbed one of her breasts and she cried out in more pain. He didn't stop and she gave in to him, despite the brutality with which he was fucking her. It lasted a few more minutes only, thankfully, before he attained his climax and exploded inside of her with a loud grunt.

His pleasure was reached. His dominance was exerted and his point was made. As the wave of ecstasy diluted itself throughout his body, a new wave suddenly took over: one of terrible and profound guilt. Jean-Armand de Treville was a man respected for his high and admirable degree of self-control and discipline. Yet, as he lay there on his back, drenched in sweat and catching his breath, he felt like nothing more than a lowly drunkard; he had lost control.


	9. Aftermath

"Aramis… Aramis…" He placed his hand gently on the bare shoulder of the young woman who was lying next to him. She was on her side, her back turned to him. Her body glistened with sweat. Although he couldn't see her face well through the voluminous hair that fell onto it, he could swear that the moisture on her face was not from sweat but also from tears.

She didn't move. For the most part, the musketeer was physically drained. She also felt a sense of satisfaction that was akin to a long day of successful training. But there were other thoughts racing in her head.

In the moment when he had left her in the room, after he had kissed her, she could feel her senses lit on fire. A fire that felt so inescapable that the only way to put it out was to give in to it; and she had been desperate to have _him_ give in to it as well. It wasn't that she had simply wanted to "try" things out. She wanted to see him at his rawest. She wanted him to disarm her, to engage with her, to fight her, to possess her, to _love_ her. She wanted it all, every part of him. Had she bargained for more than she could handle?

And yet… she shivered at the memory of how he had handled her. How he had trapped her, held her in place, the way he commanded her and ordered her. Good God, was it so wrong to have liked it? He was in control but completely out of it at the same time. She felt utter satisfaction in knowing that she had broken him down, that she had managed to seduce him and that her mere presence was powerful enough to make him lose himself and his sense of morality entirely. However, as she lay there, the question burned in her mind: Had he just made love to her? Or had he simply decided that her rejection of him merited some kind of punishment and that was all there is to it?

She felt a pair of large hands encircle her face and turn her around. She stared at him absently.

"Aramis_… pardonnez-moi… pardonnez-moi_," His eyes were filled with remorse, as he covered her face, her eyes and her lips with urgent tender kisses.

"I beg you, please forgive me. I was nothing but a bastard…" his voice almost broke.

He kissed her again and buried his head in the groove of her neck as he held her to him tightly.

Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of composure, of self-discipline, who kept the enjoyment of pleasures in life to a minimum. He had a high threshold for pleasure to begin with and it was precisely due to this that he had stopped frequenting women.

His taste in the bedroom was…unique. He preferred to exercise the same calculated coldness and dominance in the bedroom as he did in real life. He was also not a man capable of relinquishing control in any aspect of his life. As such, he did not see the point in performing simple acts in bed simply for pleasure. He had done it, in the past, to please his mistresses. But he quickly became bored and abandoned the idea. There was only ever one woman who had shared his perverted tastes and even thrived on them. However, she was not a personality he could suffer for more than a minute outside of the bedroom. The fact that she had also come up with a nickname and spread it around certainly contributed to the demise of that relationship.

Then on day, an unexpected person showed up on his doorstep. Little did the Captain of the Musketeers know at the time that Renée d'Herblay would become the only woman he could stand to be around, nay _wanted _to be around.

From the very beginning, she had challenged him. He had accepted her challenge of him and of the societal norms she was breaking. When someone plays such a dangerous game as gambling with their very life for a just cause, as Renee had done, it forces the respect of others. It would then become shameful not to accept her and not to acknowledge her.

He had suspicions whether someone as passionate and driven as her would survive long enough in a militaristic regiment. Not because she couldn't handle herself or defend herself. But how will someone so rogue be content with the hierarchy of order and absolute obedience? What if her grief made her unhinged and she herself would spill her own secret as a rebellion, thereby taking him and the regiment down with her? Women, and especially _emotional_ women, could not be trusted. They belonged in a convent.

But still, he took the risk. And she never let him down. In fact, for the most of the last six years, he himself had started to think of her as a man most of the time. It was only recently, after Belle-Isle, after her mission was concluded that he remembered Renee. But when he looked at Aramis, there were no more traces of the young headstrong girl from six years ago. In her place was someone who had had a mission, who came up with a strategy and followed it through thick and thin. In the eyes of the musketeer before him, he saw Aramis, the interim Captain of the Musketeers. He saw himself.

She had become his equal.

Hence, without her knowledge, the complete transformation of Renee into Aramis had made her the only woman in the world that Captain Jean-Armand de Treville could ever see himself married to.

And so, he revisited his proposal, this time with intention of winning her, not getting her out of the way as he had thought to do six years ago.

Throughout the trial, however, Treville had been wary. He had been wary of scaring her, of losing control, of showing her this side of him and having her revolt. While before, Treville had nothing to prove to a sixteen-year old provincial girl, he now had everything to prove to this femme-musketeer. He thus kept himself under tight control. He had even promised himself that, should she agree to marry him, he was willing to forsake his own pleasures in bed to please _her_, in whichever way she had wanted.

It was all he could to walk away from her when they kissed. But then… oh but then… he could feel his member pulsating with pleasure as he remembered how she stood in the hallway, bold and proud, letting that dress fall to the ground and revealing her spectacular nudity to him. And on top of that, she had challenged him and he perceived it as an invitation.

To hell with it! Yes, he wanted her. He _craved_ the idea of dominating her, of shaping her into the wife he wanted just as he shaped her into a musketeer. He could not resist. The more they got into it, the less he was able to resist. Oh, and the memory of the obscene sounds she had made!

Had he gone too far?

Yes, his musketeer was strong and capable. But she was also terribly lacking in experience. Why couldn't he just make love to her normally? Ah, but he wanted to show her: this is what it would be like to become his wife, his partner in life and in bed.

In any case, it was a lost cause now. She was not responding to him. She had rejected him. Twice. And why shouldn't she?

"Aramis…" he begged her.

Finally, she turned around to face him, plunging her deep azure eyes into his. The color and the void expression in her eyes almost took his breath away.

She didn't know what to say: _I feel like a whore. But I enjoyed it. I liked how you fucked me. I didn't know pain could be pleasurable. I liked how you humiliated me. It made me come. What does that say about me? Is this love? It can't be… with Francois, it was always sweet, passionate, respectful. _

She watched him with her eyes half closing as he kissed her hands tenderly and stroked her face, removing the moist locks of hair that were sticking to her face. He then covered them both with the sheets and held her tightly in his arms, whispering words of affection. She couldn't explain it, but it felt good, it felt safe. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

….

When she woke up, a faint orange hue bathed the room. The bed next to her was empty and her heart sank for a minute before she saw his profile elegantly sitting in an armchair by the bed, reading a book in the light of the candle. She stared at him for a few minutes, admiring his focus and concentration and the way his brow furrowed. She couldn't help but smile; he was adorable.

She wrapped the sheets around her nude body and moved over to him. Sensing her movement, he put his book down and welcomed her in his arms as she sat on his lap. She stroked his cheek and, to his surprise, planted a kiss on his lips.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she spoke softly, as she stroked his hair away from his face. He relished in her sweet touch, closing his eyes momentarily to enjoy it.

He exhaled, "I didn't think it would come to this. I didn't think you could ever want me to begin with but then once we started, I couldn't help it…" he looked away in shame.

"It worries me to think that, had I married you without knowing, this would have become imposed on me…"

"Do you despise me?"

"No."

Silence.

"Did you hate it?"

More silence.

Finally, she smiled faintly, "No… But," she paused, "I would have liked to know before so I would have been more... prepared."

"You're right, forgive me."

"In any case, I have always had suspicions of your perverted tendencies."

"Oh?"

She smiled and rose, pulling him back to bed.

"Maybe we can agree on a code-word next time?"

"A code-word?"

"Like a safety mechanism?"

"That sounds…strategic!"

"In the meantime, you admit that I caused you to lose control?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"So, then it looks like I won our duel."

Treville chuckled as he placed himself gently on top of his musketeer.

"You're incredible, you know!"

"I think you owe me a reward."

"Oh?"

"In fact, I think maybe I'd like to be the one dominating _you_ sometimes…"

"Well, I don't know how I would feel about this…" he caressed her nude chest absent-mindedly.

"Let's find out, shall we?" she winked at him.

It all happened quickly. She grabbed a handful of his hair and, with all her force, she shoved his head to her crotch, where she opened her legs to receive him.

His first thought mirrored the one he had had when she stood in the hallway, calling him by his name only and demanding his attention: _How dare she?_

His second thought – while not originating in his brain - also mirrored the one he had had before: _But how can I resist her?_

As he touched her tongue to her sex and began to devour her lustfully, he realized: he could never dominate her. Any dominance over her was simply an illusion that only she could orchestrate, nothing more. In the end, he was hopelessly devoted to her. He would give his life to her and if she was ready to indulge him then by God, he will indulge her in every way possible. He knew that there was no purpose in resisting her anymore. She had won. She had conquered him, so he set to his task and was terribly pleased to once again hear her moan, taste her fluids. _Good God!_ What was he even complaining about?!

When she came, she pulled him up to her and they interlocked passionately.

"Make love to me," she demanded.

He understood. She was ready to indulge him, yes, but she also wanted to feel his love and affection for her. The very things he had deprived her of throughout their trial.

Jean-Armand de Treville had made love to many women in the past, but he had never made love. He watched her underneath him as she moaned and sighed with every thrust. He felt her breath on his face, her eyes half-closed, her hair becoming moist. This was no woman.

This was Renée, _his_ Renée, his prodigy, his secret, his _wife_. His thrusts were no longer calculated, he went and came inside of her freely, like a stormy wave on the edge of a cliff. With every thrust, a new wave of moans escaped his lover and she held on to him tighter, almost digging her fingernails into him. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, drawing him in deeper – the sensation made him groan with pleasure. How right it felt! He increased the intensity until, with one last moan from her, which he was sure was heard violently around the house, he exploded inside of her.

Sweaty and clammy, he collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her arms around him.

"_Je vous aime_," he whispered as he buried himself in her chest.


	10. Mme de Treville

"Bonjour, Madame. Breakfast is served."

The maid had softly opened the door and cheerfully placed a tray of heavenly goods onto the table by the window. She was in the process of setting up when she noticed a most unusual sight: her maître, Monsieur de Treville, was in bed with his wife. He was also completely nude. Her eyes widened and she shrieked, startling the two lovers who had been fast asleep to notice her presence.

"Good God, what the…!" the Captain shot up to see a trembling young girl whom he recognized as a maid in his household. "What in God's name is the matter with you…?"

But before he could finish his sentence, the woman who had been sleeping next to him threw some sheets on top of him, making him realize that he had been exposed.

"You may go, Mathilde, thank you," she said in an authoritative yet kind voice.

The young girl bowed and ran off.

….

Now wide awake and unable to sleep in any longer, the couple simply lounged together in bed. For the most part, Jean-Armand de Treville was highly irritated. He did not appreciate being woken up in this manner. His irritation only served to fuel the fit of laughter that had possessed Renée.

She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and sighed, stretching her hands over her head and interlacing them together at the top.

"You just ruined an innocent girl," she teased him, "She's only fifteen, you know."

He glared at her, "Well, she's quite stupid. What was she expecting? All of Paris must have heard us last night."

"I wonder what the Cardinal would have to say about that," she faked a scandalized expression.

"Richelieu can go *bleep* *bleep*."

"Dear me, how vulgar you are this morning, Monsieur de Treville!"

"Only when it comes to Richelieu," he frowned. If the earlier spectacle hadn't completely reduced his morning erection, the evocation of the Cardinal certainly fulfilled the task.

He turned to his young musketeer, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Despite all of these intrusions, nothing – absolutely nothing – could take away the bliss he felt to wake up to this splendid woman by his side.

He stared at her lovingly, stroking her face and the inside of her arms, his fingers resting on her underarm, which was populated with hair that was slightly darker than that of her mane. Unlike the women at court, Aramis did not have the luxury to groom and pamper herself. If anything, she had to avoid these practices so as not to give away her identity.

"Does it offend you?" she asked, moved by his attention.

In response, he planted a kiss on her armpit. "Not at all. You're beautiful as you are. I wouldn't change a thing."

She smiled and placed herself on top of him, engaging him in another round.

…

They sat across from each other, spreading butter and jam onto their pastries, as he poured some tea for both of them.

The mood was bittersweet. Despite their passionate evening, neither one had forgotten that only last night, Renée had declared that she did not want to be Renée any longer. They both knew what that meant. The "trial" had failed. They were quiet for a long time until she finally broke the silence.

"I have a proposition for you," she began.

"Hmm?"

"Send Renée away and bring back Aramis."

His heart sank. He had hoped that she would change her mind. He had hoped that he had pleased her enough so that she would want him every night, just as he wanted her. But Jean-Armand de Treville was not a man of dalliances and illusions. Even though he had let himself go for one night, it was now time to face the reality.

"Is that what you want?" he asked in a thick voice.

"It is. I can't _not_ be a musketeer."

"I understand."

Silence.

The question that burned in his mind was simply: _how?_

How can he go back to the way things were? How can he see her every day and pretend as though nothing had happened? As though she hadn't changed his life? Perhaps it was time for him to retire from his post and go back to Gascony… Perhaps it was time for a new Captain… Perhaps…

His thoughts were interrupted.

"Can you accept a wife who is a musketeer?"

He looked at her gravely, questioningly, warily… hopefully?

"What are you saying?"

"I'm asking you if you can accept both: Aramis and Renée."

Had she just_ proposed_ to him?

He looked away from her. She could feel her heart racing, not knowing whether he will outright reject her or embrace her. The question that burned in her mind was simply: _how?_

How can she go back to the way things were? How can she see him every day and pretend as though nothing had happened? As though he hadn't changed her life? How can she simply go back to being a mere soldier, taking orders from her Captain with nothing else to live for? Perhaps it was time to leave this life after all… Perhaps she could travel… Perhaps…

Her thoughts were interrupted.

"…but how will we…?"

The Captain of the Musketeers was a practical and strategic man. But he wasn't as gifted when it came to imagination. He knew it. And she knew it.

He was asking her to guide him, to paint him a picture, just as she had done from the very beginning.

She smiled warmly at him, the relief washing over her; he was in. Once again, they will become complicit together.

….

"The alleged assassin was last seen around this part of the Louvre," announced the Captain of the Musketeers, as he pointed towards the East wing on a map of the Royal Palace that was spread out on his bureau.

He continued on to detail the plan to his musketeers, assigning to each of them special tasks that played to each of their strengths. Naturally, the plan required the sage input of Athos, who subtly injected his opinion without injuring the Captain's pride or undermining his authority.

"Very well, then, we will reconvene in two days for an update," he concluded.

"Yes, Capitaine!" the four of them cried in unison.

"Excellent. Dismissed."

They filed out of his office one by one, with Aramis being last.

She stopped as he called out to his blond musketeer, "Oh, and Aramis, a word?"

"Yes, Captain."

As she closed the door behind her, her comrades exchanged worried looks. Aramis had been receiving many sermons and admonishments from their Captain ever since her spy mission at the court ended.

It had been a few months since her mission ended abruptly. The incident with the Admiral drew too much attention to the musketeer, thereby endangering her cover. In response, Treville prematurely and hurriedly terminated the mission. He announced the next day that his wife had "chosen" to isolate herself in a convent in Switzerland and then requested a holiday so that he could accompany her and ensure she was well-installed.

As a devout Catholic himself, His Majesty heartily agreed, giving praise to the Captain for putting his wife in place appropriately after a scandal, but also acknowledging his wife's dedication to the religion.

They had indeed traveled to the Switzerland, where they had spent a heavenly honeymoon, having stopped earlier in a remote region in the North-East of France to get married.

In his absence, Athos had taken up the post of the interim Captain of the Musketeers. First order of business? Send d'Artagnan to investigate criminal activities on Admiral Pouilleux's turf. While it had started off with Porthos proposing simple pranks or duels, Athos soon learned that the Admiral and his men were involved in potential plots against the King. After all, no one touches the musketeer Aramis without having to answer to all three other musketeers.

….

The young blond musketeer re-entered the bureau, making sure to lock the door behind her.

She crossed her arms across her chest and regarded him with a grimace.

"You do know that these unsolicited interviews will make people suspicious, don't you? Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan know nothing about us and I'm tired of having to make up excuses every time for why you asked to me."

He scrutinized her from head to toe before he approached her. How proud and haughty she was. How dignified! Exactly what a wife worthy of him should be like.

He pinched her chin with his index and thumb finger, forcefully lifting her head to his eye level. She dropped her arms to the side and met his gaze with defiance.

"Is that how you speak to your commanding officer?" he coldly reproached her.

Without allowing her the chance to respond, he placated his lips onto hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth while simultaneously pushing her towards the wall behind her.

He then hurriedly unbuttoned her culottes and slid his hands to her sex. He kept his mouth on hers to prevent her moans from being heard.

She trembled at the contact of his fingers between the lips of her sex. She even instinctively bit his tongue as not to produce any noise, causing him to groan with pain and irritation.

As a response, he continued to stroke her more aggressively as she trembled in his arms. It didn't take long before she reached an orgasm and he relaxed his grip on her. But only momentarily, for then he unbuttoned his own pantaloons, slid hers to her knees and inserted himself inside her. He placed his hand on her mouth as he proceeded to devour her neck.

"Well, Madame de Treville?" he breathed into her ear.

"Mmm," she moaned through thrusts and kisses.

It didn't take long for him. Lately, it seemed like the excitement of being found out in the office was a fantasy that had such an explosive effect on him. She obliged him, even though she preferred the privacy of a bedroom.

As they both stood panting and catching her breath, they busied themselves with restoring order to their appearance.

"What did you want to ask me?" she demanded, exasperated from the unpredictable moods and fancies of her husband.

"Oh, what would you like for dinner tonight?"

FIN


End file.
